


Willingly

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Arras, Gags, Humiliation, M/M, Punishment, Ties & Cravats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 18:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17513510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Javert grasped hold of the simple cotton cravat Valjean wore. “You’re not going to have any need of this where you’re going,” he said, treasuring every word as he slowly pulled until the knot unraveled. “Open your mouth.”





	Willingly

**Author's Note:**

> The cravat-as-gag idea shamelessly stolen from a discussion with kainosite and cybermanolo. <3

“I told you. This is how it’ll end for you.”

Javert leaned against the wall, watching his prisoner. There was something viscerally pleasing about the sight of iron cuffs around his wrists and the distress on his face. How long had Valjean fooled these people?

But no more of that. No more Monsieur le Maire. No more doing the bidding of a man whom he’d always known to be false.

“Ah. You’re silent now.” Javert straightened, then moved towards Valjean. Something about the man still set him on edge. Even now, in his triumph, there was something jarring about the way Valjean stood there, looking at the ground, strands of lanky hair that had escaped from the ribbon shielding his face.

He was too calm. That was why. This false anguish hid the rage that Javert had seen in his face back in Toulon, when they’d stripped him down to who—what—he really was. 

But there'd be no more of that. Madeleine had been revealed for who he really was. And Javert would make sure that every single soul in Montreuil would get a look at their fine mayor when they made it back.

“Nothing to say for yourself, Monsieur 24601?” Javert’s smile widened as he looked at Valjean’s lowered shoulders, the face still averted. “That’s right. Silence suits you. We’ll soon have you remember your manners. No more raising your voice at me. No more of your sullen looks. No more shouting at me over whores—”

“Her name is Fantine!” Valjean’s head jerked up.

Javert gritted his teeth as his hand shot out to grasp Valjean’s cravat.

“I’ve had enough of your despicable displays. I remember that scene you made in the street. All that shouting, and over what? A dying whore. Was she your whore? Is that why—”

“Don’t call her that!” Valjean jolted back, his eyes wild.

Javert felt satisfaction rush through him. He’d known this would happen all along. “I warned you. No more of your disrespect. You’re no longer a mayor. Everyone knows you for what you really are now.”

Tightening his hand around Valjean’s cravat, he pushed until Valjean’s back hit the wall.

“A convict. A recidivist. Someone who stole from a child. You’re the lowest of the low, Valjean, and I’ll make certain that everyone in your fine town is going to get a good look at you in your cuffs when we get back.”

Valjean swallowed, but Javert noted that he didn’t lower his eyes.

“But first—first I’m going to teach you some manners.” Javert felt his smile widen as he stared at Valjean’s face. For far too long he’d been forced to watch this man make a mockery of the mayor’s office. But all of that would have an end now.

He grasped hold of the simple cotton cravat Valjean wore. “You’re not going to have any need of this where you’re going,” he said, treasuring every word as he slowly pulled until the knot unraveled. “Open your mouth.”

Valjean stared at him, eyes wide. For a moment, Javert thought that he wouldn’t do it and felt a rush of elation. If Valjean forced his hand…

A moment later, Valjean took a deep breath and averted his eyes. Reluctantly, his lips parted—and Javert used Valjean’s own cravat to gag him, winding the length of cotton tightly around his head, then tying it in place.

Valjean made a muffled sound when Javert grabbed hold of his shoulder and pushed him roughly against the wall.

“There. That’s better,” Javert murmured. He grasped the length of ribbon and pulled it free as well, only to bury his hand in Valjean’s hair instead.

“You’re going to be silent now, do you hear me?” Javert could feel Valjean tremble as he pressed himself against his back—but for once, Valjean remained obediently silent.

Javert chuckled again. “Not that you have much of a choice.”

For how long had the false mayor vexed him? No more of that. Now he had Valjean exactly where he’d wanted him all along.

Javert exhaled again, taking note of the way Valjean trembled at the heat of his breath against his ear.

His smile widening, Javert leaned in. “I told you I’d denounced you at the Prefecture. I’d risked my entire career to unmask you. And they weren’t pleased with my accusations. Not at all. Do you understand what that means? You’ve deduced correctly. I’m an ambitious man. Everything I’ve worked for since I was a child, the hard work to get to where I am—and I was willing to risk it all, because I knew. I knew who you were.

“Of course, they said I was mad. They sent me away. I still remember the way they looked at me. I’ve seen those looks my entire life. They’re all thinking the same thing. That I don’t belong here. But that’s where they’re wrong. And do you know why? Because I’ve worked damn hard to be where I am. And because I do good work. Excellent work. And one day—maybe in five years, maybe in ten—it’ll be me sitting in that office. Me they’ll scramble to please. Won’t that be a sight? Of course, you won’t see it. You’ll rot in Toulon, where you belong.”

Javert exhaled another laugh.

“They’re going to get rid of this, too.” Javert tugged on a strand of Valjean’s hair. “It’ll be the red coat for you again instead of the mayor’s sash. I’m almost sad I won’t see that fine sight.”

Valjean made a soft, muffled sound. It might have been a protest. It might simply have been a sound of despair. Even so, Javert grabbed hold of Valjean’s shoulder and pushed him around again.

Valjean’s face was flushed. The skin around his eyes was red. There was a tell-tale gleam visible that only served to further fan the fire that had taken hold of Javert.

How many days had he dreamed of this sight? And he hadn’t even had to fight for it. Valjean had given himself up all on his own. _Willingly_ , he’d said.

Javert moistened his lip, his eyes closing for a heartbeat as he remembered the moment of his triumph.

“You said that you’d surrender yourself willingly,” he then said. “Isn’t that true?”

Valjean stared at him from wide, wary eyes before he gave him a jerky nod.

Javert laughed again. “How willing are you really, I wonder? It’s a life sentence for you anyway, so you can’t make it much worse. Are you going to try and fight? Don’t forget that I know you. I remember your escapes. It’s not going to happen. Not here on my watch.”

Valjean quivered, then shook his head. Javert was still standing so close that he could feel the tremor that ran through Valjean. He could feel the truth of Valjean’s words, too: there was no fight in him, none of the tension of tightly coiled steel that usually preceded a fight.

A moment later, Javert realized that the heady sense of triumph had taken its toll on his body as well. His flesh had roused, pressing hard and eager against the confines of his trousers—and pressing just as hard against Valjean, who must have been left without a doubt as to the state Javert was in.

Was that why Valjean had trembled? Valjean, who’d been seen with prostitutes in broad daylight?

“How willing are you really?” Javert said again. “Is it just another act, your surrender? Are you trying to make a fool of me again?”

A moment’s pause, then Valjean shook his head with another muffled sound.

Javert snorted, then grabbed hold of Valjean’s collar and roughly shoved him forward, until Valjean came to sprawl across a desk that stood in this room they’d been given at the back of the courthouse.

“Are you sure?” Javert asked mockingly. “Are you sure that you’d surrender yourself to me willingly?”

Valjean’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t answer. A moment later, his bound hands clenched at the desk’s edge and he tried to push himself up.

Javert grabbed his neck and pushed him back down, stepping behind him. Even if Valjean had failed to notice it before, with Javert’s aching hardness pressed right against his buttocks now there was no way that the man didn’t realize how aroused Javert was.

“Of course,” Javert mused, slowly reaching around Valjean, “even if you weren’t, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. But you did say _willingly_ …”

From behind the gag, there came another muffled, desperate sound, and Javert smiled.

“Yes, that’s better, don’t you think so? No more of your impertinence now.”

He unbuttoned Valjean’s trousers. Then he pushed them down.

Valjean was silent now, tense and unmoving as he rested on the desk. Idly, Javert ground his aching prick against Valjean’s backside. Before him spread a tantalizing landscape. His eyes lingered for a long moment on the vulnerable curve of Valjean’s bent neck, the tangled strands of hair damp with sweat at Valjean’s nape.

Javert bent forward.

“You’re nothing,” he murmured into Valjean’s ear, his hands going to the buttons of his own trousers. “You’re going back to Toulon, and no one will ever see you again. Meanwhile they’ll praise me for catching you. No more Monsieur le Maire now. You’re the scum of the earth, just like your whore.”

He spit into his hand, then slicked himself before pushing forward. Another sound escaped Valjean, but Javert didn’t stop.

Valjean was tight. Javert could feel him trembling, his entire body gone tense as Javert forced himself inside, little by little. He’d half expected Valjean to lose his temper again—but it seemed that Valjean was smart enough to realize when he had lost.

“You’ll be prisoner 24601 once more.” Javert’s hand curved around a hip, the other clenching around Valjean’s shoulder. He pulled half out, then pushed forcefully back in, and another desperate sound escaped Valjean.

The friction was good. Valjean was so tight that it was nearly painful, but with Javert’s entire body still thrumming with triumph, he couldn’t have stopped even if he had wanted to.

And Javert didn’t want to. Months of having to watch the mayor pretend to be an upstanding citizen, months of having to listen to him while knowing all along who he was, months of having to take orders—and then the final humiliation, both in the streets of Montreuil as well as in the Prefecture...

“This is what you are. What you’ll always be.” Another desperate sound escaped Valjean as Javert harshly forced himself inside once more. “The lowest of the low. No better than that whore you took a liking to. And look where it got you.” Javert chuckled breathlessly against Valjean’s hair. “At least you’ve still got your hair—but not for long now.”

From behind his gag, Valjean groaned. Javert slowed down, enjoying every moment of the agonizingly slow, long slide deep into Valjean’s body.

“You’ll find that you no longer outrank me in municipal matters, Monsieur le Maire,” he said with deep satisfaction. “But since you’re so interested in the welfare of whores, I’m sure you’ll appreciate this demonstration.”

Again he thrust inside, reveling in the way Valjean arched helplessly against him.

“Is that why you were so eager to defend her? And why you gave yourself up? Have you been missing your friends from the hulks? Well, you’ll be journeying back to Toulon with them. I’m sure they’ll keep you warm at night.”

Something about the image of reedy Chenildieu or broad-shouldered Cochepaille bent over Valjean’s body made him grit his teeth and thrust harder, burying himself inside Valjean to the hilt with every thrust.

When Javert had just joined the guards, the men had invited him along when they visited disreputable inns and brothels. But having Valjean beneath him, fearsomely strong and yet fully subdued, was nothing like those short, unsatisfying moments with a whore reeking of cheap perfume.

Despite Madeleine’s worn clothes, there was nothing cheap about his scent. He smelled like _fear_ —and that, after the long hunt, was more precious than rose oil. And there was none of the bored surrender or the weary embraces that had cost Javert a handful of coins in his youth. Valjean’s surrender was hard-won, his body fighting the penetration so that he trembled and groaned every time Javert forced himself inside. Droplets of sweat dotted Valjean’s nape, his thighs quivering against Javert’s legs, and his shoulders were so tense that Javert could see the outline of his muscles through the tautly stretched fabric.

“Ah, but for today, you’re still mine.” Javert buried his hand in Valjean’s hair again, then pulled his head up until he could see his face.

There were tears glistening on Valjean’s cheeks. His mouth was slack, his lips flushed and swollen, and there were lines of pain around his mouth. All those many months when Javert had been forced to resort to nothing but carefully chosen words in the mayor’s office—and now he had him utterly at his mercy, all the defenses of his office stripped away until Valjean was naked, completely vulnerable.

“For the rest of the day… And for an entire night in Montreuil’s cells.”

The thought of Valjean in chains, forced to march through Montreuil while his people watched, caused a new wave of heat to rush through Javert. A groan escaped him as he buried himself inside Valjean one last time, enjoying every last pulse of ecstatic heat as he spilled himself, Valjean’s body helplessly clenching around him

“Willingly. Isn’t that right?”

Valjean had closed his eyes. He didn’t open them even when Javert trailed a finger along the glistening path of a tear.

“I could give you something else to cry about tonight. Of course, the whip never taught you a lesson either, but surely that’s no reason to spare it.”

Javert was still breathing heavily, filled with a bone-deep satisfaction when he withdrew from Valjean, who remained sprawled over the desk, defeated at last. Javert watched as his spend dripped down Valjean’s thigh. Then he grabbed Valjean’s shoulder again and roughly forced him to straighten, ignoring his muffled sound of pain.

Valjean’s eyes were dark and wet, and a damp stain had spread over the cravat where Valjean had bitten into it. The corners of his mouth were red and sore—but probably not as sore as his arse. Javert allowed himself another soft laugh at the thought before he untied the gag.

“No more shouting now. No more disrespect,” he said as he used the mayor’s cravat to clean his spent prick. “Or I’ll stuff this right back into your mouth and make you walk through Montreuil like that.”

Valjean swallowed, his tongue coming out to lick at his bruised lips. Then he nodded, his eyes on the floor.

Slowly, Javert wound the cravat around Valjean’s throat once more. Stained as it was, Valjean’s saliva and his own spend still visible, he carefully tied it in place, then took a step back to survey his work.

“It’ll do. Monsieur le Maire.” Javert’s lips twitched again as he stared at a white spot. “Better enjoy this journey. There’s no need of a cravat where you’re going. But then, you know that already, don’t you?”

Valjean’s tongue probed at the reddened corner of his mouth. “Yes, Inspector Javert,” he said quietly.

Javert reached out for Valjean’s cravat once more. “And don’t forget it.” He tightened it past the point of comfort. “Otherwise, we have all night to repeat this lesson. To which you said you would surrender willingly. Isn’t that right?”

At last, Valjean raised his eyes. They were still dark and bruised, gleaming with tears—and for once, there was none of the mayor’s disrespect in it. “Yes,” Valjean said again, his voice respectful and soft.

Another tear ran down his cheek. Javert smiled as he watched it.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I just cannot get over how much [this scene](http://esteliel.tumblr.com/post/182216973828/bbc-valvert-appreciation-7-monsieur-le-maire) is a perfect depiction of all my id has ever wanted.


End file.
